


Couplin

by daleked



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Misunderstanding, Sentinel AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daleked/pseuds/daleked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel!AU. Thorin, a royal Sentinel, is sent to mate Bilbo Baggins, a Guide hobbit recommended by the Thain of the Shire to King Thráin himself. </p><p>Perhaps Balin should've been more detailed with the map of the Shire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couplin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fideliant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fideliant/gifts).



> Here are [brief](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Series/TheSentinel) [primers](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sentinel_and_Guides_are_Known) on this trope. It's got similarities to omegaverse, I suppose, but with spirit guides and things.
> 
> The word 'couplin' is related to scent and pheromone.

"Bilbo!" Lobelia called, puffing her way up the slope. "I'm scared! Can we go back now?"  
  
"It's the world out there, everyone, it's waiting for us!" Bilbo was wearing a badly-fashioned hat out of his father's scrap papers. "As a traveller, I must insist we explore these lands on an adventure!" Lobelia tugged on his shirt nervously.  
  
"I'm hungry, Bilbo. My mummy said we could have some poppy-seed cakes when we go back. Can we go now? Everyone else has gone home."  
  
"Fine," Bilbo said. "Lobelia, you're a wuss." She scowled at him, but the effect was lost as she giggled and clung to his hand. She was still a fauntling and he felt greatly protective of her.  
  
"Guides like us aren't supposed to be adventurous, Bilbo. You're more Sentinel than Guide."  
  
"I'm not a Guide!" Bilbo protested. "I'm going to present as a Sentinel just like my mummy!"  
  
"There's nothing wrong with being a Guide," Lobelia said as they carefully descended the hill. It had the steepest slope out of all the grassy knolls and many a fauntling had skinned their knees going down it. "You'd make a good Guide, Bilbo."  
  
"Mmm," Bilbo said. It was a source of sadness that Lobelia had presented before he did, that she could read feelings and project her own at such a young age.  
  
"Don't be broody, silly." Lobelia told him as they reached the bottom of the hill. He picked her up and she patted his face, allowing Bilbo to feel a wave of calm washing over him. She stilled all of a sudden.  
  
"Bilbo, you're a Guide!" She squeezed his cheek with her chubby hand and he jerked, feeling her mind attempt to probe his. There was a pool of something he'd never dared touch at the back of his mind because it seethed and hissed, and she was going near it. Danger, danger! He drew back and pushed her out as hard as he could.  
  
When he came back to his senses, Lobelia was lying on the grass a distance away, bleeding from her nose and crying. He started towards her but she flinched away, sobbing. Bilbo's heart sank and he stayed where he was.  
  
"Lobelia, please!" An angry throbbing at his temples started, and he could only watch as she struggled to her feet and ran home. Bilbo walked home with his head bowed, and his father clasped him in his arms the moment he came through the door.  
  
"My dear son," Bungo said quietly, and carried him to his bedroom. Belladonna hovered around anxiously-- being a Sentinel, she did not have the emphatic gift that Bungo had, but she could sense very faintly the waves of distress that Bilbo gave off. Bungo held his son's hand loosely in his and gradually, the pain eased. Bilbo was suddenly aware of being in bed despite his dirty trousers, but Bungo hushed him.  
  
"It's alright now, Bilbo." He blinked at his father's kind, loving face, and couldn't believe what he saw. There was a large owl perched on his bookcase.  
  
"Hmm?" Bungo looked as Bilbo pointed to the owl.  
  
"That's my spirit guide, Bilbo. You've presented. That Bracegirdle girl was only trying to help. Bless, she didn't know who she was dealing with. Us Baggins have a long history of Guides and you overpowered her." Bilbo felt himself beginning to cry.  
  
"I hurt Lobelia, Papa." Bungo shook his head.  
  
"It was an accident. You can go and apologise when you've recovered. For now, rest." Bilbo closed his eyes, feeling strangely sleepy. Dimly, he realised his father's hand was on his, and that he was projecting the tiredness into Bilbo. The last image he had of that day was his father's owl stretching out a wing to reveal a tiny sparrow nestled into its side.  
  
  
+  
  
  
"And it is set," Thráin said, signing the last of the papers and smiling benignly at the hobbit before him. They were both elderly and stout and found the other immensely pleasing to be around.  
  
"Yes, I believe so. Safety and land for my people, and food for yours." They shook hands over the table and grinned at each other, putting their pens down. The scribes brought the documents away just as the dwarven serving-maids came in with the food, curtsying and refilling their glasses. The Thain of the Shire chuckled as he picked up a goblet of wine.  
  
"Ah, fine lasses these are. Almost like my daughters back in the Shire."  
  
"Ah, daughters, Master Took?" The hobbit waved impatiently.  
  
"Call me Fortinbras, your Highness."  
  
"Yes, but you will then call me Thráin as well. I will not have people speaking of me standing on ceremony." They clinked their goblets together and drank deeply of the mead.  
  
"You see, I have an unmarriageable Sentinel son. Says that all the Guides I have lined up for him smell wrong. What a to-do, eh? Luckily his sister's got more sense than he does. She found her Guide quickly and had two wee dwarflings!" Fortinbras waited patiently for the mention of the rest of the offspring but started when he realised there were no more. Even worse was the tone with which Thráin had said 'Guide'.  
  
"You mean to say, the dwarves have more Sentinels than Guides?" Thráin nodded.  
  
"Ah, mayhaps you should betroth him to a hobbit Guide, then, if you are looking for one. Our Shire is overrun with Guides! My daughters, all six of them..." Thráin thought about Fortinbras' words as the serving-maid brought in a new pitcher of mead.  
  
"Might you have any Guide children to marry my son, then?" Fortinbras frowned.  
  
"Nay, your Highness. They are all married with wee hobbitlings of their own. But I can recommend a very good family, the Baggins family. Very well thought of! Respectable, with a long line of Guide heritage. Hrrumph," Fortinbras said, thinking of Bilbo Baggins. There was a wild one, a true Took through and through, despite the Baggins blood coursing through his veins. Too prone to adventure for all the hobbit Sentinels back home, and almost always overlooked at the yearly mating dances... Fortinbras felt a pang of sadness for Bilbo. At any rate, having someone engaged to the King's son would mean no more such incidents as the Fell Winter.  
  
"I would like to hear more about this Baggins of yours, but do not tell me their given name. It is a dwarven custom to let the Sentinel in question find out the first name of their Guide only when they meet for the first time, upon which they relay it to their family. Why, I did not know my dear Nâla's name, though we had been engaged since birth, until we met in time for her mating heat. "  
  
The hour passed with Fortinbras and Thráin gleefully exchanging stories of Bilbo and Thorin, as well as tales of their own bonding. When they parted, they parted as friends. Thráin promised to send Thorin over for the first mating heat of the Shire, in two months' time.  
  
+  
  
“Betrothed!” Thorin muttered as he set down yet another endless road in the Shire. He grimly inspected the letter sent to him from the Thain— it specified that he should arrive on Hevensday morning, in time for the start of the Guide's induced mating heat. Despite Balin’s detailed instructions, Thorin had gotten lost on the way. Tired from travels, Thorin dragged his steps wearily. He was in no condition to service his future consort— if the engagement was even going to go through now, what with Thorin being late and all.  
  
Thorin was informed that the entirety of the Shire’s Guides went into synchronised heat, and that the whole community took three days off to indulge in the holiday. Thorin was late, shamefully so, but— he was halted in his tracks by a change in the direction of the wind, bringing him a fresh wave of scent.  
  
Dwarf Guides in heat typically had the same copulin middle notes, a mix of wanton desperation and fine musky mead mixed with lavender, as they were anointed with scented oils as per dwarf tradition. These Hobbit Guides were unsullied by such perfumes and Thorin was drawn in the direction of the scent helplessly. During intercourse, Sentinel rut pheromones complemented the guide heat scent, melding the smells together so that others recognised that a mating was in progress and kept away. Thorin sniffed the air. Most of the walk around the Shire had consisted of distinctive mating-smells, but the wind brought to him the scent of a pure Guide. Thorin’s knees buckled slightly as he walked, taking deep breaths. The smell of the Guide-- and it could only be a Guide, thanks to the scent-- was intoxicating. Like the foreign apples that hobbit tradespeople brought to Erebor, sweet but tart when bitten into and with a bitter edge. It appealed to Thorin very much so, and he followed the smell.  
  
There was a gate that he opened easily, and then a small, round, green door that stood in his way. Thorin's fatigue had disappeared, the initial energetic flush of the rut overcoming his tiredness.  
  
Thorin knocked on the door and stood up straighter, breathing in the scent and willing himself to calm down. The sound of latches being unhooked were muffled through the wood, and the door swung open. A hobbit Guide in a quilted dressing-gown stood before him. The halfling was obviously going into heat, his curls plastered to his forehead and body pumping out the scent in buckets. Calling for a mate. The smell assaulted Thorin, thick and heady and wet.  
  
“Are you my Sentinel?” The hobbit asked, fingers gripping the edges of the door. Thorin could only nod helplessly, transfixed, as the guide drew nearer. His eyes were half-lidded as he stood on tiptoe to bring him closer to Thorin. Thorin only had a moment to think ‘sod the arranged marriage’ before he felt hands on his shoulders pulling him downwards. He bowed instinctively, the urge to protect the Guide and acquiesce to his every request thumping through his veins. This hobbit before him smelled right, thoroughly and completely his. Thorin doubted there would be anyone as compatible as this Guide for him. A wave of bitterness washed over him at the thought that he was supposed to marry someone else and let this Guide go. It took but a second for Thorin to make up his mind-- that he would be this Guide's Sentinel. Sod the arranged marriage and the Thain. He wanted this particular hobbit for his own.  
  
The hobbit in question rubbed his nose against Thorin's before pulling away and smiling sheepishly.  
  
"You smell about right. Won't you come in, then?" As Thorin stepped over the threshold of the door and it closed behind him, the smell seemed to intensify tenfold. He dimly wondered if he could throw open a window. Surely it was suffocating to him? Thorin was seized with the need to push his Guide down to mark and claim him. He struggled with his composure for a moment before speaking.  
  
"I apologise for being late. What is your name, halfling, that I might know who to call upon in the throes of my desire?" A blush graced the hobbit's face, spreading down to his neck, but he continued to lead Thorin to the bedroom, down a round corridor and passing by a series of rooms.  
  
"Bilbo. I'm afraid I used up a fair bit of the oil waiting for you." Thorin imagined Bilbo spreading himself, stretching his arse around two fingers, and felt quite faint. These hobbit Guides were certainly something else. They turned round a corner into a room with a large bed, and Bilbo climbed on before patting the space beside himself.  
  
“I have brought oils as well, little one,” Thorin groaned as he said this, for the hobbit’s dressing-gown had fallen open, revealing stretches of skin down his belly and thighs that had probably never seen the sun-- he was so fair.  
  
All of a sudden, it felt very important to Thorin that he strip as well. It was time to scent his Guide, to let everyone else know that Bilbo belonged to him. Thorin disrobed as quickly as he could and fell upon the hobbit, rubbing their cheeks together.  
  
Bilbo writhed beneath him and watched with wide eyes as Thorin pulled out a vial of traditional mating oil from the inner pocket of his abandoned coat. They twisted against each other and Thorin inhaled deeply, nosing up under Bilbo's chin to look for the scent glands. They were swollen and Thorin licked them, tasting the delicious couplin notes they put off. He bit down firmly, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to deflate the gland. Bilbo jerked upwards and whined softly. Thorin dropped the vial of oil in the folds of the blanket and moved his arms up to still Bilbo before repeating the procedure with the adjacent scent gland on the other side of the hobbit's neck. It was a dance as old as the Maiar, this mating-- a slow exchange of bodily oils and scents until none could tell them apart, that others would breathe in their mix of sentinel and guide-scent and know that they had a mate waiting for them.  
  
Bilbo bucked upwards, fully in heat. His arms were still trapped in his dressing-gown as he clung to Thorin, mewling wantonly as he arched his back. There seemed to be a terrible ache that grew inside of Thorin, to take this guide and let their minds meet. The bond that would form would bind them for life. He looked into Bilbo's eyes and saw the little Hobbit for all he was. They were melding.  
  
Bilbo, brave, small Bilbo longing for adventure and wilderness-- a tiny sparrow standing on a branch bobbing in the wind and moving up and down in accordance to keep his balance. A branch on a tree on the fringes of the forest, the doors of the fabled spirit world finally open to them.  
  
Dwarves did not pay much attention to the spiritual side of being a Guide or a Sentinel, preferring to focus on the physical benefits. Up to that day, Thorin had only seen his spirit guide a few times. It stepped out of the forest, snorting and shaking its head. A boar with great tusks and brown fur stood before the tree where the sparrow rested.  
  
"Come to me, halfling," Thorin said through the boar's mouth. "I will do you no harm." The sparrow came down hesitantly, then eagerly, as if it could not wait-- and they embraced as lovers, returning back to the physical world with nothing but the remnants of a breeze. Thorin oiled his fingers shakily, sliding them along the cleft of Bilbo's bum and spreading the cheeks to reveal a small puckered hole. Bilbo gripped the sheets and pressed into Thorin's touch wordlessly. There was a sensation of warmth at the back of Thorin's mind, the gentle tendrils of another consciousness linked to his own. They coaxed him to rub the pad of his finger against the opening, his calluses catching on the tender skin. The oil gathered and shone greasily, and Thorin pushed in a finger. Bilbo arched off the bed and groaned quietly as Thorin pressed in. Thorin had studied Guide anatomy, both male and female, and felt instantly thankful to Balin for making him sit down to listen to the lessons despite their mutual embarrassment.   
  
"Come on," Bilbo urged, voice hoarse. "Please. I've waited for so long." Thorin thought it odd that Bilbo should phrase it that way but picked up his pace all the same. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to S_Dari, Alyss and Charie for holding my hand and giving me the best suggestions a fic writer could ever ask for.


End file.
